Агата Кристи – Death on the Nile / Смерть на Ниле (страница 6)
“What are we going to do about it?”
The two men sat silent. Then Rockford asked, “Got any plan?”
Pennington said slowly: “The Normandie[51] sails today. One of us could just make it.[52]”
“You're crazy! What's the big idea?”
Pennington began, “Those British lawyers – ” and stopped.
“What about 'em? Surely you're not going over to tackle 'em? You're mad!”
“I'm not suggesting that you – or I – should go to England.”
“What's the big idea, then?”
Pennington smoothed out the letter on the table.
“Linnet's going to Egypt for her honeymoon. Expects to be there a month or more. Yes – a chance meeting. Over on a trip. Linnet and her husband – honeymoon atmosphere. It might be done.”
Rockford said doubtfully, “She's sharp, Linnet is… but – ”
Pennington went on softly, “I think there might be ways of managing it.”
Again their eyes met. Rockford nodded.
“All right, big boy.”
Pennington looked at the clock.
“We'll have to hustle – whichever of us is going.”
“You go,” said Rockford promptly. “You always made a hit with Linnet. 'Uncle Andrew.' That's the ticket![53]”
Pennington's face had hardened. He said, “I hope I can pull it off.”
“You've got to pull it off,” his partner said. “The situation's critical.”
Chapter 10
Mrs Otterbourne, with the turban of native material draped round her head, said fretfully:
“I really don't see why we shouldn't go on to Egypt. I'm sick and tired of Jerusalem.”
As her daughter made no reply, she said, “You might at least answer when you're spoken to.”
Rosalie Otterbourne was looking at a newspaper reproduction of a face. Below it was printed:
Mrs Simon Doyle, who before her marriage was the well-known society beauty, Miss Linnet Ridgeway. Mr and Mrs Doyle are spending their holiday in Egypt.
Rosalie said, “You'd like to move on to Egypt, Mother?”
“Yes, I would,” Mrs Otterbourne snapped. “I consider they've treated us in a most peculiar fashion here.
And this morning, the manager actually had the impertinence to tell me that all the rooms had been booked in advance and that he would require ours in two days' time.”
“So we've got to go somewhere.”
“Not at all. I'm quite prepared to fight for my rights.”
Rosalie murmured: “I suppose we might as well go on to Egypt. It doesn't make any difference.”
“It's certainly not a matter of life or death,” agreed Mrs Otterbourne.
But there she was quite wrong – for a matter of life and death was exactly what it was.
Part II
Egypt
Chapter 1
“That's Hercule Poirot, the detective,” said Mrs Allerton.
She and her son were sitting outside the Cataract[54] Hotel at Assuan. They were watching the figures of two people – a short man dressed in a white silk suit and a tall slim girl. Tim Allerton sat up.
“That funny little man?” he asked incredulously.
“ That funny little man!”
“What on earth's he doing out here?” Tim asked.
His mother laughed. “Darling, you sound quite excited. Why do men enjoy crime so much? I hate detective stories and never read them. But I don't think Monsieur Poirot is here with any motive. He's made a good deal of money and he's seeing life, I fancy[55].”
“Seems to have an eye for the best-looking girl in the place.”
Mrs Allerton tilted her head a little on one side as she considered the backs of M. Poirot and his companion.
“I suppose she is quite good-looking,” said Mrs Allerton.
She shot a little glance at Tim. To her amusement, he got interested in the girl.
“She's more than 'quite'. Pity she looks so bad-tempered and sulky.”
“Perhaps that's just expression, dear.”
The subject of these remarks was walking slowly by Poirot's side. Rosalie Otterbourne was holding an unopened parasol, and she really looked both sulky and bad-tempered. Her eyebrows were drawn together in a frown and the scarlet line of her mouth was drawn downward.
They turned to the left out of the hotel gate and entered the cool shade of the public gardens.
Hercule Poirot was talking gently, his expression that of good humour. He wore a white silk suit, carefully pressed, and a panama hat.
“– it excites me,” he was saying. “The black rocks of Elephantine[56], and the sun, and the little boats on the river. Yes, it is good to be alive.” He paused and then added, “You do not find it so, Mademoiselle?”
Rosalie Otterbourne said shortly: “It's all right, I suppose. I think Assuan's a gloomy sort of place. The hotel's half empty, and everyone's about a hundred – ”
She stopped – biting her lip.
Hercule Poirot's eyes twinkled.
“It is true, yes, I have one leg in the grave.”
“I–I wasn't thinking of you,” said the girl. “I'm sorry. That sounded rude.”
“Not at all. It is natural you should wish for companions of your own age. Ah, well, there is one young man, at least.”
“ The one who sits with his mother all the time? I like her – but I think he looks dreadful – so conceited!”
Poirot sniffed.
“And I – am I conceited?”
“Oh, I don't think so.”
She was obviously uninterested – but the fact did not seem to annoy Poirot.
“Oh, well,” said Rosalie, “I suppose you have something to be conceited about. Unfortunately crime doesn't interest me in the least.”
Poirot said solemnly, “I am delighted to learn that you have no guilty secret to hide.”
She shot him a questioning glance. Poirot did not seem to notice it as he went on: “Madame, your mother, was not at lunch today. She is not unwell, I hope?”